


Snow Banks

by DwarvenReject



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: F/M, I have no shame, I'm so sorry, Stalking, this is literally a self indulgent self insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-09 17:33:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11673837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DwarvenReject/pseuds/DwarvenReject
Summary: Cheyenne gets stalked and Lucas gets creepy(er)





	1. Cramped Spaces

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WitchOfTheWestCountry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WitchOfTheWestCountry/gifts).



> This...this is literally just an indulgent self insert that I wrote during an extremely stressful time. I was half tempted to scrap it but figured might as well, time is an illusion and we're all gonna die. Hope you enjoy *shoves on sunglasses and backflips into the sun* I am seriously getting into obsessed/stalker Lucas. It's not so far fetched our little psycho would be so sick as to do that.

Noooononononono! Slapping my hand against the tarnished metal of the aged elevator door I bear my teeth and restrain myself from looking to the druggy at my back. He squeezed in at the last second, hood up and head down, when I just wanted to use one of the less used elevators after a shitty shift. Jc-fucking-Penny. The one job in my life I have legit loathed. Every day I would talk myself out of turning in a resignation form, reminding myself that I need the job until I could find another.

Unfortunately there aren't many full time jobs for experienceless art undergraduates in the dead ass middle of winter. The man began to curse in the corner and I felt the shake of his foot hitting the floor in a stomp. Shit. I'm so used to trying to deal with people like him. Maybe drunk, maybe strung out, maybe mentally ill. It's Anchorage, I would be stupid to expect anything less. I did not expect the lilting Southern accent to fill the stale air with filth. Never heard one so thick in real life, despite all the summer tourists that filter through the city.

Sighing, I lean on the side and shove the broken half of my headphones in after pressing the emergency button I half suspected didn't work. It's an ancient and neglected elevator on the far side of the mall, I wouldn't be surprised. Maybe the lawsuit I push could pay for half of next years rent so I could take a break from work? The man seemed just as eager to talk, long, thick fingers furiously tapping the screen of an iPhone.

He leans across from me and I lift my own phone, looking over it to discreetly observe him, muscles relaxing as I figure he won't be like the man that got too close as I waited for my ride in the sky bridge. From under his hood I see the almost glowing cornflower blue of his eyes first. They are startling to even look at, probably contacts. I rake over his face and I'm surprised and slightly disappointed at the same time.

He's obviously attractive, albeit in an unconventional way. Not in the way I would usually like, but then again he is pretty tall. As in stupidly tall. Nice cheekbones and brow ridges, even scruff, groomed thick brows. Even his big beaky nose, which is long and straight. I think it's more because of the symmetry of his face than any substantial beauty, but I still can't clearly see. His eyes are sunken in with deep bruising from lack of sleep, what I can see of his eyes are bloodshot and glassy. Unfocused and flickering pupils. His skin is almost sickly pale and drawn of color and he's skinnier than a rail.

Probably high off something but thankfully not speed. He'd be more in my business if it was speed. Sniffling back the mucus from my minor cold I actually turn on my phone and start scrolling through texts and random notifications. I think about calling 911 but the button was pressed, elevator too old to have a working emergency phone, and I decide it would be best to call in 15-20 minutes. After posting my complaint of being stuck on twitter, saturated with cuss words and sarcasm towards the man in the opposite corner.

A minute later he snorted a laugh and I jumped a little, eyes flicking up to catch him staring at me. When he's fully facing me I can clearly see the hollows of his cheeks and the shadows in the pits of his face. Damn, he needs food. Slim but pink lips twist in a smirk that is attractive but way too unsettling. Swallowing, I turn away and continued scrolling, phone so dry I resorted to Pinterest comics. When I looked up again he got closer. Or maybe he shifted on his feet?

Terror filled flashbacks of an obviously ill man trying to lock me in the elevator with him at the library flash in my minds eye and my chest tightens. He was a shorter and much older black man and this is some gangly druggy with skin too pale to be healthy, accidentally stuck in a crappy elevator with me. There was no similarities in the moments. Struggling to breathe anyways, I take in deep breaths through my nose and turn up the almost depressing indie music to blaring.

I get the passing whiff of cheap cologne and mint gum coming from the man. I peek through my lashes and stare at the offered stick. Smiling, I open my hand and let him drop it, casually chewing the stick of artificial mint. Nice enough, I guess. Sometimes first impressions are wrong. The elevator jerked around us descending downwards and I crowed in victory. Out of the corner I can see him smile but I don't have it in me to be embarrassed after 10 minutes of awkward stagnant air between us. Smiling at him when my stop came, I scuttled to my car and left it at that. Just a weird dude in the elevator. A smile twitches my lip when I think about all the fanfiction I would read with the exact same plot but different endings. In real life that doesn't happen though, just like weird skinny strangers don't have unrealistically huge dicks.


	2. Caffeine Is Needed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First came the elevator cliché, next the shitty coffee shop.

The next time I see this stranger is at a coffee shop two days later. My poor mans version of Starbucks, complete with bootlegged fraps that almost, but don't quite, taste the same. He was right in front of me getting some nasty black coffee when I noticed that hoody. He turned his head slightly and I could see the profile, confirming my suspicion. I debated introducing myself for all of a split second before just shrugging and turning up my music, headphones still broken but with both in so no one talks to me. 

When he turned to step out of line he saw me. He wasn't surprised. In fact he leveled me with a look that made my skin crawl and flush at the same time. Swallowing my disposition, I order quickly and wait by the end of the counter. Right next to him. It's obvious he was looking at me and it was obvious I was looking at him but neither of us broach that subject. Ignoring his unsettling eyes I take him in, daylight doing him more favors than the dirty fluorescent of that elevator. 

Took a few years off his face but the bags around his eyes are just as heavy. I self consciously brush my own, thick concealer not quite hiding the almost black hollows of insomnia. His hood is back now and I see his receding hairline and thin hair. Maybe a little older than he looks. But ignoring that I can see again what I thought was the trick of the lights. He's pretty in the dumbest ways, sharp cheekbones and jaw line shaping his face almost perfectly. 

He, unfortunately, also had the most assholish air around him that I almost took a step away. My prick-o-meter was going off the hook in his presence and I sigh in resignation. Other than that and the probably drug addiction he would have been good for a couple practice flirts, maybe a romp. Then again, he looks like the type of dude that would stalk someone. 

He got his coffee, promptly dumped a truck load of sugar in it and went to sit down, phone already in hand. I ignored the weight of him staring at me and made my way to the far side of the cafe, laptop in hand as I completed an incredibly boring English class. An hour later and he was blankly looking and I was low key soaking it up although I did fiddle nervously with my golden septum ring during the long stretches.


	3. Retail Is Actually Hell (A Memoir)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Really happen? No, I walked out with more dignity. Exaggerated? No, not until the end really. You don't experience retail until someone does exactly this but starts screaming at you in Russian instead. Fuck JCPenny.

He faded from memories soon enough in the passing weeks. Sometimes, though, I feel as if I see him from the corner of my eye, or smell his cologne for a split second. Those moments he'll plague my thoughts for hours almost like an obsession. It's easy enough to brush it off as some kind of weird crush on a stranger and forget about it. Today was easier than others. 

I was being screamed at by another woman who seemed to think that lying to me about using coupons on an electronic "just last week" would fucking fly. I swiped it just to prove it to her but she got angrier when it didn't work, as if it was my fault. Her harping attracted the attention of other customers. Some looked at me in pity. Some were just blankly staring, souls and wills taken from the hustle of Christmas shopping. Not one of them tried to help. 

"I WANT YOUR FUCKING MANAGER!"

I wince and look at the multitude of children in line. I have the mouth of a mother fucking sailor but, around strangers kids, even I reign it in. A little. 

"Ma'ma there's no reason to yell and curse. There are children present. I'll get my team leader on the radio right now."

The woman's face lit up bright red and my stomach sank. I tried fumbling for my radio before tears could come to my eyes as she drew herself up and opened her mouth to start screaming. The other associates were restocking and checking the back for online orders, leaving me completely alone to deal with these savages. I already had to deal with yelling customers as I tried to return 50+ items one woman brought from her online shopping spree, trying to do it without half the receipts in a timely manner, and another who kept sending her husband to trade out different socks, holding up the line despite me politely trying to direct her away. And that's not even counting the entitled man babies glaring at me down their nose when it took longer than a split second to check out their arms full of items or returned a baskets worth without a fucking receipt. 

I will forever curse all these shit employees that send people up here for returns and online pick up when literally every department can do it. I work in home and kids! I jumped when a big hand clamped the woman's shoulder and I looked back to see the looming figure of my knight in shoddy hoody. Shock radiated through my bones at the familiar hooked nose and stupidly awesome cheekbones. He looks less tired and greasy today but his face is twisted in rage. 

"Calm the ever lovin' fuck down woman. Let her do her damn job."

I almost started crying then and there. Someone finally tried to help me. I radio the team leader while she was busy yelling at the man who looked like he could care less. I mouth a thank you and I see a smile twitch his lips. Genuine. My heart thumped a bit and even harder when she took a swing at him. Security was called and of fucking course they got here, from the bottom floor, quicker than what's-his-name from the office literally on the other side of my section. The woman was escorted out and when he finally came, stupid smile plastered on his face and sweater vest pressed. I think I broke at that moment. Before he could ask what's wrong I spoke up. 

"I quit."

He sputtered a bit before smiling again and all I want to do is tear it off. "If you want to hand in a 2 week notice after your shift-"

I raised my hand. No. my shift has 4 more hours on it and I would rather die at this point. They have a huge influx of high schoolers looking for a seasonal job and I have no doubt anyone will notice my absence. 

"No. I'm leaving and I'm not coming back. Send my check in the mail, I'm going home."

I was never meant for retail. I brushed past him, only stalling enough to give the strange man a shaky smile before stomping to the locker room. Grabbing my things and clocking out I rush out of the store wondering how I'm going to make rent, but knowing I can't take it back.


	4. Sugar Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Handouts for the desperate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can anyone tell my subliminal message to give me money??? Make me a sugar baby damnit!!!

Job searching, as always, was hard. It couldn't have been the piercings because I took them out. Wouldn't be the pastel pink Mohawk because I would wear a wrap during interviews. I would say it was because of a poor review from JcPenny but I didn't put them as a source and I was an exemplary employee in my 2 wasted years working there. At best I'm finding part time minimum wage and TSA agent. Fuck.

Deciding to toss in the towel today, I wait at the bus stop, sun going down as 3:30 approaches. The sky was cloudy, darkening everything earlier than usual, and I smile. It's been a while since we had good snow fall. Cars drive by and I can't help but think it's beautiful, the colors and neon lights reflecting on the snow banks. It was almost dark enough for me to ignore the packs of strangers walking around me. People off their meds, homeless, both bat shit crazy and others just trying to survive the winter as pan handlers kick them off their spots, drug addicts and drunks stumbling around. Home sweet home. My brother often described it at Gotham without Batman. I have yet to find a better way.

When I got home I fell into my fragile plastic dining chair and put my face in my hands, not noticing the thick letters at my elbow among the mail until I knocked it over. Groaning, I pick up the scattered papers but pause at the thick Manila envelope under the table. I can't remember bringing it in but it's addressed to me. Carefully opening the almost package I gasp when I see what's inside. Money. A lot of fucking money. Pale and dizzy I pull out wads and wads of 100s and a little note on the bottom written in a hand I don't know.

_"I heard you need to make rent. Consider it a gift."_

This will more than make rent and bills this month. Thinking quickly I know I'll make it until April with groceries if I don't have any surprise expenses. Trembling hands carefully shove the rolled wads back into the envelope. I stare at the bloated package for a tense long while, weighing the pros and cons. On one hand, I won't get tossed out. On another this is some strangers money. I won't have to beg pity money from my family. Again, this is a strangers money and I don't know what they'll want in return. Rubbing away tears I decide better than the alternative and quickly hide the cash in the back of my dresser. That night, while getting ready for bed, a text from an unknown number came through.

'Sweet dreams baby'

It's them! Can't be anyone else. I'm a little uncomfortable with them calling me baby but, if they want to be my sugar, I guess the name fits. I couldn't wipe away my smile even if I tried. I guess, sometimes, life is like a book and, as long as it doesn't go tits up, I'm not looking a gift horse in the mouth.


	5. Gutter Trash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Party places people!

The next couple months were amazing. I could concentrate on art and commissions, putting the money in savings immediately. I have the money I need, shouldn't spend what I don't need to. I'm proud of what I'm making from it. Not a livable wage but maybe if I could get a roommate I could make rent this way? Well, only if I keep selling these 50$ commissions. I guess that's incentive to get a boyfriend if there's any. 

Not gonna get one staying indoors though. So I decided, against every cell in my being, to accept my friend's invitation to a party this weekend. I can always trust him to get the good shit, top shelf alcohol and literal pounds of weed. I just can't trust his parties, they are known to get wild and loud and just plain annoying, not to mention dangerous as he lives in a gang controlled part of town. But I haven't hung out with him for weeks and I've never accepted an invitation before. Maybe this time guns won't be involved?

Brushing the mascara wand over my lashes one more time I narrowed my eyes at my reflection. I'm no prized pig, but I'm far from ugly. I just wish these stupid shadows under my eyes would go away. Tugging my nose ring nervously I give my reflection a shaky smile and push my glasses up further up my nose. Time to go out and hopefully not regret anything.   
****

Well, this entire plan was a mistake of epic proportions and I regret everything. The night started just goddamn peachy, Miles giving me a rum and coke and a joint the minute I walk in, the party already in full swing. I sipped and relaxed with every small puff. I forgot to grab my inhaler and I don't need to hack up a lung right now. I finished my drink and joint and tossed off my heels to drag some random stranger onto the dance floor. 

Big, beefy, and dark as good chocolate. Not that shitty Hershey stuff. He wore the same cologne as someone not as deliciously dark but just as tall. Damnit, I don't need to think about that right now. I had to concentrate to not replace big liquid browns framed by thick lashes with wide frosty blue. Maybe I took some greedy gulps of the smoky air combined with the cheap cologne but that's neither here nor there. Hips tingling with every flick and heart trembling with every Colgate smile I close my eyes and southern hick comes unbidden to my mind. 

I always got a little more horny than necessary when buzzed. The man murmured that he needed some air so I let him go and continued to dance, trying to ignore his telepathic stare trying to make me come with him. I'm not that high yet. A girl sidled up against me and I started at the familiar face not wearing a hijab. A girl in my art history class. Tami. 

"Cheyenne, right?"

I nod, dumbstruck as she dragged me deeper into the mess of bodies. We twisted and swayed until I was drunk on the air of the party and I couldn't breathe without gasping more in. It felt good, like the air around us was alive. Just as I was considering inviting her back to my shoddy apartment a gunshot rang out and a dead weight fell on my heart. 

Tami and I shoved each other down and waited out the panic, both hoping we would get out alive and no one was hurt. Within moments Miles spoke up. 

"The police are coming, everyone just stay down ok?"

We did, holding our breath and waiting for the burning pain of a bullet tearing through our bodies. A kid next to me, darker than night and taller than a tree, began to mutter under his breath for hope. He had a thick South African accent and looked younger than my cousins. I wanted to send him back to his mama with a twisted ear just for being here. Instead, I held out my hand and smiled as calm as can be when another shot was heard. I'm used to it, the apartment I grew up in a hub for criminal activity, from drag racing to armed robbery.

Sirens wailed and within the span of minutes the part was over. Some people, including the kid holding my hand like a lifeline, melted into the crowd to the back. Probably underage kids that snuck in. Knowing it has nothing to do with me I stand and make for the door along with the others, herded safely from the house. I saw, in the filthy gutter filled with brackish snow as high as my hip, was the man who I danced with and another with his gun out. 

The police let me and the other party goers go home after about an hour of questioning. Miles was shook up but I was the last to leave after making sure the recently juvie released man didn't stir unnecessary shit. He sent me home after the 10th yawn, calling a cab so my trembling ass didn't take a nap in the gutter....maybe not the best choice of words. 

Thank god for legalized week in Alaska, I didn't feel like spending time in jail for holding a joint. Wincing at the insensitivity of my thoughts, with two men dead and left like dogs, I give the cabby his fare and a little extra for the long drive. Looks like I'm out lunch money for the next couple days. 

Bile rose in my throat and I choked it down with pure will and desperation not to look smashed in front of my landlord who's curtains twitched open to watch my stumble of shame. 

I unlock my door with trembling hands and decided to never be spontaneous again. Chugging almost an entire bottle of NyQuil, I fall naked face first on my bed and decided to do what everyone else does in life and ignore the fucking problem until the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> I cut this into a drabble so it's easier to bail and because of reasons.


End file.
